serendipity
by faithsette
Summary: "A part of him wants to miss his flight on purpose, stay here for a while longer and learn anything and everything he can about Kate, the woman he's spent only the past few hours with yet feels indescribably connected to." A 'lost in a foreign country' prompt fill.


"Don't do anything stupid, Richard."

He remembers his mother saying the words to him, remembers nodding along and promising her that he would do no such thing, and yet here he is. Wandering around with no idea as to _where_ he is, the GPS on his phone not doing him any favors. It's taken him in a circle twice already.

It was his idea to take a European vacation to get away for a few days, had to practically beg Alexis to take a break from all of her finals studying and his mother... well, there was no convincing needed for her. But the two of them are flying out in a day or two; mother has a set commitment she can't miss and Alexis took this as an opportunity to spend an extra day getting as much work in as she can. They ushered him out, told him to go ahead and scout out the places so he'd have an idea as to where they could travel.

Their trip is starting in France, something about the girl wanting to see the Louvre, but his flight had a forgotten layover in Italy. It was supposed to be a non-stop flight but, in true airport fashion, something went wrong. Now it's a five hour layover, much longer than he's capable of sitting around doing _nothing_ , and so he's decided to venture out of the airport, see the city he's stuck in for now.

Mistake number one on his part.

Mistake number two comes when he decides to deviate from his original, fool proof plan of walking in a straight line for as far as he wants so he knows know exactly how to get back to his starting point. But about a mile in he gets bored, figures it couldn't hurt to take a few turns so long as he remembers which ones they are.

That's how he ends up where he is now. On some street corner with giant, beautiful buildings surrounding him. But everything's in Italian and his google translate app is doing nothing for him, keeps bringing up jumbled answers and he's pretty sure there's much being lost in translation.

It's a beautiful place, truly, he just wishes he knew exactly where he was. He doesn't even remember which way he came because of the circles he's done, and none of the storefronts look at all familiar.

He continues to trudge on, considers asking people for help but everyone he's come into contact with thus far either hasn't known English or their knowledge was limited and not at all helpful. He thanks them for their help anyway and keeps going, becoming increasingly frustrated the longer he travels—and just a little nervous, because he does not need to get lost in Italy and miss his flight. He's not sure what would be worse, having to explain it to someone so they'll help him find his way back, or telling his family.

That would most definitely qualify as the "something stupid" his mother advocated so seriously against.

He sighs, once again spinning in place to take in his surroundings. There are a few stores but they're mainly restaurants, and the last thing he wants to do is walk into a fancy restaurant in clothes that have him looking like he's just gotten off a plane—he _has_ just gotten off a plane but he doesn't want to look like it—so he just keeps moving, makes his way further up the street.

A jewelers. A small boutique. Another row of restaurants. A—

Ha! A coffee shop.

He's almost surprised he hasn't seen one sooner—unless he passed one without realizing in his haste to right himself—but he doesn't care. He stuffs his phone and useless GPS into his pocket and opens the door, his eyes closing and a small smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the aroma. If there's one thing he loves about Italy, besides pretty much everything about it, it's the coffee. And the coffee shops in general. He's been to many in Rome and he's never been disappointed.

Granted, he knew where he was and what he was doing on those trips.

But that's not important.

"Ciao," he greets the vendor, using one of the few words he actually knows. He fumbles through the rest of the order with barely passable Italian and waits back, taking his coffee with a grateful smile once it's finished.

Taking a break will be nice. Maybe it'll help him get his bearings.

He scans the shop, taking note of the lack of tables because it's so packed, and lands on one table towards the corner with only one inhabitant. It's a woman probably a few years younger than him, whose face is buried in a book, her free hand stirring at her mug. She's engrossed, so surely she won't mind if he just takes a seat.

As he gets closer, he realizes just how stunning she is. She barely looks up, doesn't even seem to register his presence until his chair squeaks against the floor, causing her to startle. Her eyes fly up to his and he holds his hands up, a sheepish look on his face.

"I'm so sorry," he rushes out. "There were no seats and—and you probably don't know what I'm saying." When she blinks up at him he holds up a finger, reaches for his phone. He translates I'm sorry into google translate and prays it's right. "Mi dispiace?"

She grins with a nod. Her mouth opens but he cuts her off. "I'm sorry, it's been a long morning. This place is very beautiful but also very easy to get lost in," he laughs. "I should've stayed in the airport but I never do what I should, so here I am." He looks at her, realizing once again that she probably has no idea what he's rambling on about. "I don't know why I told you that. Or why I keep talking." He pauses. "Ciao?"

"Ciao," she laughs, an amused smile playing on her lips. "So you're lost?"

His eyes widen. "You speak English!"

She nods. "I do speak English," she confirms.

"Why didn't you say something?"

A brow raises. "You didn't give me much of a chance," she counters.

Ah, well, she's not wrong. He did kind of cut her off before.

"Sorry about that," he says, holding out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Rick."

She takes the offered hand. "Kate," she tells him in return. "So, Rick, how did you manage to get lost?"

He groans. "I thought I would remember which turns I took," he sighs. "I didn't."

She laughs. "That trap gets many a tourist."

"So, Kate," he returns, bringing his eyes to hers. "You don't have much of an accent. You're not from here, are you?"

She shakes her head. "Nope."

"Are you going to tell me where you're from?"

One of her hands comes to her chin. "I don't know, Rick. You first."

"New York," he replies easily, nodding to her as if to say that it's her turn.

Her eyes show a hint of something before it disappears. "Also New York."

"What are the odds?" he smiles as he picks up his drink and takes a sip.

"So what are you doing here?"

He leans against the table, uses his elbows to prop himself up. "Five hour layover." Her nose wrinkles in a look of sympathy—he tries not to think about how adorable it is—and he laughs. "Yeah, that's what I said. I can't just sit around in an airport for five hours so I figured I'd get out, explore. And get lost, apparently."

She huffs out a breath. "Don't you have a GPS on that phone of yours?"

His hands fish in his pockets to pull the offending object out and he plops it onto the surface of the table with a thud, a sigh escaping his throat. " _Yes_ ," he says incredulously. "Of course I thought of that. But it took me in a circle. Twice."

"Oh," she says, obviously trying to stifle another laugh. "How much longer of your layover do you have?"

He glances down at the time. "Three and a half hours."

That's news to him; he was so sure he'd been wandering around for much longer than an hour and a half, but he supposes time slows down when you have no idea what you're doing.

Kate hums, turning her attention back down to her drink. "Better leave now if you want to find your way back in time for your flight."

He gapes at her grin, the one she's trying to hide with her hair, and scoffs. "That's not funny," he deadpans, and she looks at him from behind her lashes. "Mostly because it's true."

"Why didn't you ask someone for directions?" she asks then, leaning on her elbows to match his posture.

"No one speaks English! I tried. One lady tried to help but her English wasn't that great and she told me to take a right turn at the toilet," he says. "I didn't have the heart to tell her she wasn't making sense so I just thanked her and kept going."

She snorts, covers her mouth with her hand. "Sorry," she grins. "This isn't a huge tourist city. You're more likely to find people who speak English in Rome or Milan."

"How come you're here then? You're from New York and you just said yourself that this isn't a tourist attraction, so how'd you end up here?"

A hand comes up to brush her hair behind her ear, her eyes turning to stare out the window.

"It's quieter," she says after a few minutes. "It's not as crazy or crowded as the bigger cities. I get enough of that in New York, so when I come here I like to relax, get away from the chaos."

He nods, understands where she's coming from. New York is probably the definition of mayhem, always crowded and swimming with tourists. As much as he loves it, it's definitely nice to get away. The quiet is such a stark contrast; even now in this coffee shop filled with people, the only sounds are faint conversations between people. No loud yelling or animated declarations in conversations, no businessmen arguing on cell phones. Mostly just people enjoying this quaint place, a hot beverage in one hand and a book or laptop in the other.

It's nice.

"I know what you mean," he agrees, taking a sip of the coffee and letting his eyes roam the shop once more. "And this place is really nice, quiet. I get why you like it so much."

She bites her lip, raises a brow. "How do you know I like it that much?"

"Please, you're way too comfortable for this to be your first time here," he explains, a smug smile on his face.

"Lucky guess," she shrugs, but the corners of her lips tug upwards.

He laughs. "It's what I do."

"Make assumptions about women you've just met?"

"What? No, I—well, yes, but no—" he splutters, shaking his head and then nodding because yes he does this but no it's not in the way she means and—

She's looking at him, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, and he stops.

"Oh, hilarious, make fun of the American!"

Kate rolls her eyes. "I'm also American, in case you forgot," she says, a brow arched.

He waves a dismissive hand. "Semantics."

She huffs but doesn't respond, just looks down at her watch. "I should probably get going. I've been here a while and I don't want to hog the table," she murmurs, closing her book and stuffing it into the bag that's seated on the chair next to her.

He stumbles out of his chair when he sees her begin to stand, tossing the cross body back over her chest. "Hey, wait," he rushes out, effectively getting her attention and stopping her from stepping away from the table. "You're the only person that speaks English in like a 30 mile radius." She snorts at the obvious exaggeration. "Can I just... stick with you for a bit?"

She pauses. "Stick with me?"

He nods. "Yeah," he says, hesitantly. "You know, just... yeah, stick with you until my flight? Otherwise I'll just get more lost and I know you wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you, Kate?"

This is ridiculous, asking to practically glue himself to her side when he's only met her twenty minutes earlier but she's the only person he's met that speaks English and he can't risk to lose this. She can show him how to get back to the airport when the time comes, hopefully. And, well, she's beautiful, and there's something hiding behind her eyes that he wants to figure out. Looking at her for the next two hours wouldn't be the worst thing he's ever done.

And she's from New York, too, so that's gotta be some kind of cosmic sign, right?

This is the universe's way of keeping them together, and he respects the universe far too much to let this fall between the cracks. Or her, for that matter.

"I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be on my conscience," she quips, tugging at the strap at her shoulder. "I can see the headlines now: acclaimed author lost in Italy, has to call in reinforcements to rescue him."

She's so busy smirking at him that she doesn't seem to realize she's let it slip that she knows who he is. But he didn't miss it.

Oh no, the smug grin on his face and sparkle in his eyes is a direct effect of that little bit of information.

"Acclaimed author, huh?"

She blinks. "What?"

"You said acclaimed author, but I never told you what I do," he explains, his grin only growing at the slight tinge of pink blooming on her cheeks. "So you're a fan."

He's beaming and she's blushing.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she denies, looking at him with a false sense of assurance and he knows it.

But he doesn't call her out on it—he really has just met her, and he wants her to agree to let him tag along with her for a while. He doesn't need her to confirm it, not yet; knowing she's read his work is enough.

Even if not knowing whether or not she's actually enjoyed it will probably gnaw at him until he has an answer.

"If you say so," he smiles, picking up her coffee cup left forgotten on the table. "Don't forget this."

She nods. "Thanks." Her eyes travel from the coffee to him, and then out the coffee shop doors before she sighs. "Let's go."

His face lights up and she shakes her head, a small smile gracing her lips. He grabs his things and follows her out onto the street, already lost, so he just stalls and waits until she takes them in a certain direction.

"So, where to?" he asks, keeping in step with her.

She hums. "Are you claustrophobic?"

Her voice is calm, the question casual, and his forehead creases. "You're not planning on murdering me, are you?" he asks, mostly joking. "Because I'm pretty sure people will know an _acclaimed author_ is just suddenly missing."

She turns to glare at him. "Just answer the question," she deadpans.

"No."

Her brows raise. "No you won't answer the question or no you're not claustrophobic?"

"No, I'm not usually claustrophobic," he clarifies.

She grins. "Good."

He waits her out, waits for some kind of explanation for the question or why his answer is good, but one doesn't come. Not even the tiniest of hints passes her lips; she just continues on as he trails behind her, knowing he's following her lead.

"Kate, come on, why is that good?"

Her only response is a sideways smirk.

* * *

This is so far from what he had in mind when she asked if he was claustrophobic.

"Why exactly do we need to put these on?" he asks as he pulls up a pair of hip waders.

Kate's doing the same next to him, tugging them over her jeans. "Because unless you want to get your pants soaking wet, they're necessary."

He stops mid-way. "Why would my pants get wet?"

She rolls her eyes. "Did you not read the sign?"

"It's in _Italian_ ," he reminds, then turns back to read what he can. "'Brescia Underground'."

"Exactly, _underground_ ," she emphasizes. "There's water underground, therefore we need these."

His eyes light up. "Are we going into hidden tunnels? Is there treasure?" He gasps, lowers his voice to a hushed whisper. "Are there corpses?"

A brow arches. "You've been watching way too many movies," she comments, amusement in her voice. "But yes, they'll take us down to the underground streams beneath Brescia. They used to flow through the city until about three centuries ago, and now they give these tours."

"This is so cool," he beams.

This is the last thing he could've possibly imagined would be happening on this layover. Or ever, really. He's standing in waist waders with a beautiful woman that he's met not an hour ago, about to go underground to some historic sites and into hidden streams.

He watches as she just gives a small smile and then returns to her own outfit, fixing the little things to make sure everything's in place. She's pulled her hair into a loose pony tail at the base of her neck, but a few rogue curls fall out, tickle at her temples and frame her face.

Their guide huddles the group of twenty five into one area to go over the safety protocols—in both Italian and English, thankfully, though he's sure Kate could've translated for him. On second thought, he kind of wishes she would have.

He makes a mental note to try and get her to speak some Italian before they part.

They're taken to a manhole that is apparently their way into the underground portion. He said he's not claustrophobic and it's true, but looking at the tiny hole that he's supposed to climb into is making him nervous, images of getting stuck and spending the rest of his days as just a head protruding from the streets of Brescia popping into his mind.

"You ready to go down?" she asks from next to him, a smile on her face as she looks from him to the hole.

It takes all of his willpower to avoid the immediate reply that sits on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he grins and settles on a confident, "Bring it on."

* * *

The underground streams are incredible.

With fairly short ceilings, he has to crouch in some areas to avoid colliding with the concrete above. There's water all over—which is expected—and it rises to just above their ankles. He now understands the strong need for these waist waders, though they probably could've gotten away with ones that fall to the knee. They're not all that flattering.

It's not a problem for Kate, though. He's beginning to realize that the woman could probably wear a trash bag and make it look stunning. She's tall and thin and it's almost as if she's modeling them; he's sure the manufacturers should get her to, she'd rack up business for sure.

There are pipes above them along the walls, leading back up to the streets above.

"This is awesome," he says happily as Kate wanders back to his side. She looks at him, a little skeptical. "Seriously."

She lets out a breath. "I'm glad you don't think it's boring," she shrugs. "Figured it'd be a cool way to pass some time."

He thinks spending some time sitting with her in a small shop would've been just fine, but this is incredible.

"It's amazing, I mean it," he says, smiling at the grin that takes over her face, and glances around.

The area they're in right now is fairly open, water still beneath them but no short ceilings. Everyone in their group has scattered around the room, each looking at something different, and he notices a ways down that there's something hanging. It looks like a giant piece of cloth, a sign maybe.

Kate follows his line of sight. "I think that's the Brescia Underground sign."

"Let's go see it," he says, tugging on her arm to bring her with him, and he grins inwardly when she doesn't resist.

She's right. It's a huge, navy blue sign that reads "Brescia Underground United" in a circle.

"Excuse me," he calls to one of the other guys in their group—and thankfully, he speaks some English. "Can you take a picture for us?"

Kate looks at him. "What?"

He just smiles. "Come on, Kate, we need to take a picture in front of the sign. It's probably a huge disgrace if we don't."

"A huge disgrace?"

"It's here for a reason, isn't it?"

She laughs. "Yes, and I'm fairly certain it's not as a the backdrop for pictures."

"Indulge the silly American who wants a keepsake?" he bargains, waggling his eyebrows, and he knows the rebuttal about her also being an American is already on her tongue.

But she doesn't use it.

He beams, hands his phone over to the man as he and Kate move over in the middle of the sign. His arm hesitates before it wraps around her waist, but then she wraps her own around his waist and he relaxes. The two of them smile for the picture and he takes the opportunity once it's done to tickle at her sides, reveling in her high pitched squeal as she tries to shimmy away.

"Rick!" she manages between fits of laughter, her body doubling over and arms curling around her ribs to protect herself. "Stop!"

He finally relents and can't stop his own laughter from bubbling up, and then there's a hand connecting with his chest.

"Hey!"

She narrows her eyes, still trying to catch her breath. "Don't tickle me if you value your life."

He salutes. "Duly noted."

Her eyes roll so hard he's almost concerned they're about to roll back into her head, but then she breaks into a smile. They stay there, smiling at each other in front of the sign, still standing in the water, until their group mate clears his throat.

"Oh," Rick says, laughing as he moves forward to take his phone back. "Thanks so much."

He doesn't have a chance to look at the photo before their guide is calling them back, ready to take them on the last leg of this tour.

Kate gives him a smile over her shoulder as she walks ahead of him and he can feel his heart flutter in his chest.

* * *

The tour lasts two and a half hours, which gives him just enough time to get back to the airport and make his flight.

A part of him wants to miss it on purpose, stay here in Brescia for a while longer and learn anything and everything he can about Kate, the woman he's spent only the past few hours with yet feels indescribably connected to. He could always get a later flight, or one for tomorrow.

But that stops being an option once they're at the airport, standing just behind the front doors of the lower level. She had joked, asked him if he needed help getting to the airport or if he could make it on his own.

"I got here on my own, didn't I?" he'd said outside the coffee shop, but she just laughed.

"Yeah, by accident because you got lost."

And so she accompanied him to the airport, walked with him to the entrance where he'd left just a few hours prior. Funny how he had no idea who she was then, or that he'd meet someone special completely by chance and experience what he did while on this layover.

"Come with me to security?" he asks quietly, his eyes meeting hers.

"Do I have to take you everywhere?" she quips, but there's no malice behind it. She takes a breath and pretends to consider him, but then she gives a soft smile. "Alright, Ricky, let's go."

He groans at the sound of _Ricky_ coming out of her mouth, the roll of the r and the pop of the k, but she's already a few feet ahead of him, her hair still bouncing in the pony tail and her bag rocking against her hip.

"So, where are you going?" she asks once he's caught up to her.

"France," he tells her. "My daughter wants to see the Louvre."

She nods. "Daughter, huh?"

"Alexis," he confirms. "She's thirteen going on thirty."

"Like the movie?" she laughs, her face scrunching up.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Should've seen that coming."

They come up to the security line and stop, move back towards the windows so they're not in anyone's way. He doesn't really know what to say now that they're forced to say goodbye. It's ridiculous, shouldn't be this difficult to do since he doesn't even really know her, but it is. He feels like he knows her more than he does, and he doesn't want to just get on a plane and forget about her.

"So, when are you going back to New York?" he asks.

She shrugs, exhales. "Not too sure. In a week or two, probably."

He nods. "I'll probably be back in the city by then, after the trip and everything," he says. "I'll see you again?"

Her lip is tugged between her teeth as she brings her eyes up to him. "New York's pretty big, who's to say we'd even see each other?"

"I'm sure we'll come together again. It's destiny. Can't fight destiny, Kate."

She laughs. "Then we'll see, won't we," she says, a brow raised, before she leans in and places a kiss to his cheek. "Fai buon viaggio, Rick."

His eyes light up. "What'd you say?"

"Have a good trip, Rick," she repeats, rolls her eyes with a smile.

"That was so hot," he grins. She shakes her head and tosses him a small wave before turning, ready to leave. "Hey! Are you gonna tell me your last name or do I have to just try and find you in a sea of people?"

She looks over her shoulder. "I thought it was up to _destiny_ to bring us back together?" she questions, and he gives her a look. "But in case destiny needs a little help... Beckett."

He doesn't have a chance to reply before she's gone, a tall flash of brunette in the distance that he keeps watching until she's completely out of sight. There's a smile on his face that he just can't wipe, and he doesn't see it leaving any time soon.

* * *

Once he's back on the plane and seated he pulls out his phone, realizes he never got to look at the picture taken in the underground.

He opens his camera roll and scrunches his brows together when there's a row of pictures and not just one.

The first one is the picture he was expecting, but as he scrolls through the rest his face breaks out into a wide smile; the guy hadn't stopped taking pictures after they stopped smiling. He kept going, ended up getting pictures of the entire scene—Rick tickling Kate, her laughing and trying to squirm away, her hitting him in the chest, and then, probably his favorite, the two of them just standing there, smiling at each other as if they'd forgotten anyone else was around.

His eyes don't leave the pictures until he's forced to turn off his phone, but the image stays burned into his mind for the rest of the flight, as does the woman in them.

He'll find Kate Beckett again.

* * *

 **Prompt** : "i am so lost in this foreign country and you're the only person i've met who speaks the same language as me so i'm just gonna stick with you for now" au


End file.
